The Traveler's Chronicles
by Angel Commando
Summary: The Traveler has many children, and these are their stories. Small drabbles, new prompt every chapter. This time, Cayde reflects on his position of Vanguard leader and longs to return to the field.
1. The Musings of Katya

**The Traveler's Chronicles **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **Bungie, I don't own this. Also, please hire me. My headcanon has some pretty awesome ideas, and I wouldn't even be jelly if they were used in the game!

**Summary**: The Traveler has many children, and these are their stories. Small drabbles, new prompt every chapter. Today, a Russian Warlock, Katya, reminisces on her day of awakening.

**Warnings: **For this chapter, there are none. All further chapters will be labeled with corresponding warnings. Some will feature language, gore, or disturbing topics. In the meantime, enjoy Katya's musings.

**Author's Notes: **Katya is the nickname for a Russian woman I teach at my ESL class. This Katya is actually modeled very well after her - the Katya I know is very quiet, reserved, and prone to a lot of inward thinking. You'd be surprised at how little she contributes, but how smart she is. Russians, I've learned, tend to be very quiet and closed - but don't mistake this for not caring. They simply view silence as a benchmark for intelligence. No need to till it with idle chatter.

. . . "Say only what you need to say" is kind of a big motto I've run into with Russian students.

Here's to you, Katya.

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><p>"Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn."<br>-Mahatma Gandhi

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><p>"Are you feeling alright today?" Her Ghost asked.<p>

Katya looked up from the datapad she was perusing, bemused. Normally, her Ghost was a quiet little thing, content to simply offer some unhelpful advice from time to time, or to chirrup that she was approaching an objective point. . . or her favorite still, announce to the world that she was desperately in need of medical assistance, and if anybody happened to have a medical kit, that would be very beneficial to her situation. Katya looked at the spawn of the Traveler, and she cupped her chin in her hand, content to simply stare at the mysterious piece of machinery for a moment.

Katya remembered everything that she and her Ghost had been through, and a small glow of affection flared to life in her.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." The Russian replied. She closed her datapad, and collecting her robes, stood from her seat. The archive had contained no new entries on the Fallen, which was a great shame, for she desperately wished that she could find a new way to exploit the Void against the Captain's arc shields. . . But it appeared such experiments had not yet been conducted, leaving her to carry out her own studies in the matter.

Considering that she was leaving with an Irish-descended Titan, Quinn, tomorrow, she highly suspected she'd get her chance to test out her theories.

Her Ghost followed behind her, a silent companion that hovered near her shoulder, its optic open and shuttering shut to imitate a blink as it passed by things it found interesting. Katya let him collect his thoughts as she returned the datapad to its rightful place on the shelf, and continued on her way, her robes trailing along on the floor behind her. They were a deep white color, embossed with the glossy crest of the Queen of the Reef. The crest itself was colored a rich gold, and if she stood in the light, it shimmered beautifully. Warlocks of her stature - and age - were to be above such petty motions of vanity, but, as Katya mused, not every Warlock owned robes bestowed upon them from the Queen.

She could stand in front of a mirror all day if she liked.

As they passed through the archives (and Katya nodded in respect to several fellow Warlocks), and emerged into the closed courtyard above the Hall of Guardians, her Ghost zipped in front of her and hovered at eye-level, his brilliant blue optic boring into her.

"Guardian, I can detect faint traces of adrenaline in our bloodstream. Acceptable, given your nervous tendencies about missions - and you do have one tomorrow - but that does not take into account why your heart rate seems to be increased this entire day. It spiked when I asked you if you were feeling alright."

Katya tucked her hands behind her back, used to her Ghost's intensive inquisitions. Thought, to be quite honest, the Russian woman thought it was entirely unfair that her body was always plugged into the Ghost's sensors. It made lying and hiding her health conditions damn near impossible.

"I can't hide much from you, can I, small Ghost?"

The Ghost shuddered from side to side. "No, not really. So, Guardian. . . tell me what's wrong."

Warm rays of sunshine flitted over her skin, warming her. Katya decided to take a detour, and meandered over to the balcony, where she could see the sun setting behind the mountains. She took a moment to breathe it in, closing her eyes, and letting the rays touch her. Yes, there was something very wrong today, an anniversary she didn't want to remember. . . today was a day of mourning for Katya, and in all honesty, she was surprised her Ghost had forgotten.

"Today," The Russian said, "Is the day of my Rebirth."

For a long while, her Ghost was silent. Finally, however, it swiveled out to look at the sun, muttering a quiet, empathetic '_oh_.' Katya nodded her head, staring out into the expanse of wildness just beyond the Tower, and she sighed in longing. Katya knew that her day of Rebirth was meant to be celebrated, but after 7 years of greeting this day, and having the same nightmares, again and again. . . she'd come to dread its arrival.

Rebirths, according to most Warlocks, were meant to be a day of honor. It was the day when the Traveler's proxies chose their selected Guardian, infused them with Light, and gave that Guardian purpose. But Katya. . . Katya knew she'd never be able to see it that way. Leaning against the railing, she took a second to reflect, allowing her mind to travel to a day, seven years in the past. . .

And, the terrible, anticlimactic truth of the matter was she didn't remember much of it.

It had been such a terrifying, disorienting event, that Katya recalled crying hysterically for a great deal of it, all while her Ghost flitted by her head, whispering and pleading with her to collect herself. As confusing and curious as the Ghost had been, Katya hadn't been sobbing because she was terrified of the Ghost. She'd been crying for all she was worth because she'd clearly remembered _dying_. And for a good few hours, she believed that this barren, rusted landscape she'd woken up to was clearly purgatory - meant to torture her for the rest of her existence.

Because. . . Because she'd been _there_. Though her memories of her first life had been stripped from her, Katya remembered looking up into the sky, and the frantic tugging at her hand, and she'd looked down. . . into the face of a man. A man Katya thought she knew very well. But, as seven years had proven, her memory of him had grown quite dim and fuzzy, until she couldn't even remember his facial features anymore. She knew that he'd had brown hair, and maybe even hazel eyes. . . but that was it.

After that, there had been a rush of fire, of pain, of screams. . . and then nothing. It had all ended with the sweet abyss of death. And the most impressive feat Katya had ever managed was _not _being terrified of that blackness. She'd merely _been _there, hovering in the black, permanently at peace.

And then, in that same rush of fire, of pain, a hand had viciously reached into the jaws of death and yanked her _out_, forcing her into a broken, and pained body. . .

It took little imagination to wonder why she'd been a sobbing, broken mess for hours on end.

"I'm glad it was you," The Ghost said, dragging Katya's mind back to the present, "If it's any consolation, the capacity of Light that I saw inside you. . . I knew you would be capable of great things."

"I know," Katya said, without an ounce of ego, "I know. . ."

". . . If it helps any. . . I'm sorry." The Ghost said quietly.

Katya smiled, a tiny, bitter, humorless smile.

"I know this, too. . . I'm just not sure I forgive you."

Katya separated from the railing, and for a moment the Ghost lingered behind. It may have been her imagination, but Katya swore she heard a faint, "_I understand_." Still, the Russian Warlock was glad when her Ghost rejoined her side, and together, the two strode into the main Tower's entrance, where plenty of Guardians greeted her warmly. And, Katya nodded in response, a few even offered her congratulations on her 7th Rebirth.

She accepted the words with a warm demeanor, but if there was a small, tight-lipped smile on her face, well. . . That was Katya's business.


	2. Adrian's Memory

**The Traveler's Chronicles **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **Bungie, I don't own this. Also, please hire me. My headcanon has some pretty awesome ideas, and I wouldn't even be jelly if they were used in the game!

**Summary**: The Traveler has many children, and these are their stories. Small drabbles, new prompt every chapter. Today, a Russian Warlock, Katya, reminisces on her day of awakening.

**Warnings: **Absolutely none. Enjoy your reading.

**Author's Notes: **I like messing around with canon. So you have this. I won't spoil what it is.

But I have another chapter that will explore this in more depth.

Also, sorry. I'm not good at writing Brits. But I'm trying to throw a little bit of cultural diversity in here. . . .

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><p>"Right now I'm having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before."<br>-Steven Wright

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><p>Today was a wonderful day, Adrian decided.<p>

He was almost in a chipper enough mood to hum as he walked through the Tower's main pavilion, and he was strongly considering it when his best friend and teammate, Brian, dropped into existence beside him. Adrian paused, turning to his friend, and the expression on the poor Hunter's face was enough to make him chuckle.

"Ah, Brian, when you gonna learn, mate?"

Brian glared absolute acid at him, which Adrian took in stride. Grinning, he waited for Brian to grumble and stalk away, steaming. . . literally. The poor Hunter's camouflage drive was broken - a lucky shot from a Fallen Captain with a shrapnel launcher. What had made the situation so funny, however, was the fact that Brian had been jumping when he'd been hit. To this day, Adrian knew he would never forget how utterly hilarious it was to hear Brian squawk in shock as he spun around like a ragdoll. When he'd hit the ground, he'd blinked and stared around stupidly.

It was like watching a cat fall off of its perch, try to shake it off, and act as though it had meant to do that.

Brian's poor ego was wounded beyond repair, Adrian knew. It would take _years _for the proud man to finally come to terms with what had happened. Adrian grinned to himself as the smoking Hunter stomped across the pavilion, uncaring of the stares he received. Stretching, Adrian enjoyed the feeling of his muscles pulling under his skin, releasing knots and tension that had been developing. As the Titan, it was his duty to punch all things that deserved to be punched. And a certain Fallen Captain's luck had run out as quickly as it had begun - in fact, Adrian was fairly certain that he still had ether on his knuckles.

Brian snarled as he passed by a few other Hunters, and Adrian chuckled all over again. Winding his way through the hallways, the pair made their way to the hangar bay, where they'd go have a small chat with the Vanguard Quatermaster. Whether or not the poor Exo could repair Brian's armor was. . . up for debate.

"'Ey," Adrian said, giving his friend a whack on the shoulder, "Don't go ignorin' me, mate."

"Sod off." Brain snarled.

That just made Adrian laugh.

Brian would snap out of it when his poor little gear had been repaired. Within minutes, they arrived, and Brian made short work of somehow shimmying into another set of armor, summoning his Ghost and pulling it out of subspace. Giving the Quartermaster his busted armor, Brian was getting ready to turn away before the Exo tapped at her keyboard, and a small beeping noise stopped them all.

"Oh! I'm sorry Guardian, but it appears your signature is needed."

Adrian watched as Brain stiffened, and the smile quickly disappeared from his face.

Oh.

Shit.

Without realizing her blunder, the Exo swiveled the computer screen over to him, and picked up a small stylus pen.

"I just need you to sign the date here, your name, and print it, please. It's just for official records so we know whose gear is whose."

Adrian watched as Brian stood there, looking like a deer in the headlights, a myriad of pain and embarrassment flashing in his eyes. Adrian, not wanting to see his friend yell at the innocent Exo, quickly stepped in, flashed the machine a winning smile, and picked the pen stylus.

"We'll consider this one one me. It'll be coming out of my stipend, so label it as my gear." Quickly initialing boxes and signing the date, Adrian scribbled down a small signature. The Exo nodded.

"The repair job will be expensive."

"I know. He saved my ass out there today. We'll just call it even."

The Exo nodded, tapping away at a holographic keyboard to change the new details, and Adrian turned - finding Brian was already halfway out of the hangar bay. Jogging to catch up, he skidded to a halt beside the other Brit.

"Hey, she didn't know, it's okay-"

Brian waved him off.

"This day is pretty much bollocks. I'm going to. . . return to the dormitory." He finished lamely, a look of defeat in his eyes. Adrian deflated a little, as well, but nodded his head.

"I understand, go get some rack."

Brian waved to him as he slunk across the Tower corridor, and Adrian watched him go in silence. With a mental summon, Adrian asked for his Ghost - and it popped into existence beside him. Adrian was quiet for just another moment before turned to the tiny, enigmatic machine.

"Why can't he write anymore?"

The Ghost shuttered at him, imitating a blink. "I've told you this before, Guardian. Many times, in fact."

"Remind me."

The Ghost swiveled, likely scanning the interior of the tower for his friend.

"The same reason you keep forgetting," His Ghost replied, swiveling around to look at him again, "When I reconfigure you, after every death, bits and pieces of memory or brain tissue are destroyed. I cannot repair what is corrupted, so I must forge new, blank neurons for you to imprint to. Memories are lost in the process. This is why you cannot remember that I have already told you this. If I recall correctly, this is the fifth time we've had this conversation."

"Five times, eh? Doesn't explain why he can't remember how to write. . . and I can."

"That would link back to your Rebirth." His Ghost answered. "During the initial resurrection process, a Ghost must reconstruct a Guardian's brain. Unfortunately, this involves wiping most of your fine motor skills and past memories - they have been corroded or corrupted because of time. We try to give Guardians as many of their past life memories as we can, but the only material we have left is often the DNA left clinging to dried, weathered bones. . . A Ghost can only do so much, you know."

"So I'm an exception?"

His Ghost waffled side to side.

"A little. Just a little. When I reconfigured you, I found more source material to work with - hence, why you can remember how to read and write. Other Guardians can, but they are uncommon. And this is not including those Guardians who have learned, but have had those neurons corrupted due to multiple deaths - and eventually, the Ghosts must erase those neurons. . . meaning they must start over again."

"Will that happen to me?" Adrian asked, concern leaking into his voice.

His Ghost swiveled to him. "Not if I can help it. I do try to keep you preserved in the peak of your prime, Guardian."

Adrian flashed his Ghost a small smile. "Thanks. . . I guess."

His Ghost flickered out of existence, and the smile disappeared from Adrian's face.

One day. . . One day, he'd up like Brian.

And it was only a matter of time as to when.


	3. Vanguard Duty

**The Traveler's Chronicles **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **Bungie, I don't own this. Also, please hire me. My headcanon has some pretty awesome ideas, and I wouldn't even be jelly if they were used in the game!

**Summary**: The Traveler has many children, and these are their stories. Small drabbles, new prompt every chapter. This time, Cayde reflects on his position of Vanguard leader and longs to return to the field.

**Warnings: **Absolutely none. Enjoy your reading.

**Author's Notes: **When in the Tower, I heard my poor Vanguard Leader bark, "HEY!" So I turned around, and silence followed, and I thought, 'maybe it was a mistake', but then I hear a whispered, " .. . take me with you."

And I cracked up. Poor Cayde!

At the same time, though, he really seems to care about each individual Hunter, so I can't help but think that he's like a mother hen watching over his chicks. It's very weird. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to slip into his CPU for a bit, so here you go!

Next piece I plan on doing is with Ghosts.

And then, I think, I'll be writing about the personal lives of my imaginary fireteam family, Kade, Cyra, and Rita. I've been developing their story for a while, that dysfunctional family, them! This is a bit on the short side, but I've been busy playing like the rest of you. Gotta get to lvl. 30 so I can go kick Crota's ass!

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><p>"It is better to lead from behind and to put others in front, especially when you celebrate victory when nice things occur. You take the front line when there is danger. Then people will appreciate your leadership."<br>-Nelson Mandela

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><p>Leading the Vanguard was, in all respects, very boring.<p>

It was the same thing, day in, and day out. He'd spend most of his time pouring over maps, coordinating movements, and occasionally Hunters would wander in, exhausted, bedraggled, and covered in dirt and greasepaint. Cayde would take their sitreps, and update enemy positions and intel. In many ways, Cayde knew that the Hunters were the spine of the Guardians - without them, there would be no intel provided. They'd be flying in blind in all situations - the Cabal, strategic and thorough, would have outsmarted them, and the Vex, relentless and ruthless, would have swarmed over their safety points on Venus. And the Fallen. . . Cayde didn't want to think about what would happen if the Fallen managed to move against the City again.

But by the Traveler, what he wouldn't give to be out on the field again. . .

"Daydreaming again, Cayde?" Ikora said.

The Exo straightened, looking at her. Information scrolled across his HUD as his systems verified her as the Warlock Vanguard leader - and nobody could mistake that sly smile she always wore on her face. Cayde gave a halfhearted shrug and looked down at his map.

"No," He lied, "Just looking at Cabal fortifications."

Not that it mattered - both Ikora and Zavala knew that his true place was out on the field. Though his Hunters made his swell with pride, everyone in the Tower knew he was one of the elite. On any planet, any battlefield, he was deadly, cunning, and struck fear into these enemies that knew of his reputation. . . but the Tower needed him more. With his mentor long gone, returned to the Traveler, he was the only one qualified enough to take over his station.

Even if he wanted to return to the wild, he knew it would be unlikely. Off the top of his central processor, he could think of one or two Hunters who could _potentially _replace him as Vanguard Leader. . . but they weren't old enough. As an Exo, he could hardly remember how old he truly was, be he knew it was a number high enough that some of his earlier memory files had been corrupted and destroyed. He didn't need his Ghost to reassure him that it wasn't time eroding his circuitry - it was age. Even humans faced the same problem his central processor did: new memories needed storage space, so his CPU would replace older memories with newer ones.

Humans, at the beginning of the war, had crafted Exos in their image, incorporating all of their flaws as well as their perfections. The human mind operated much the same way.

"Cayde," Ikora said, gaining his attention again, "It's not like you to be so quiet."

"Just reminiscing." Cayde said, fingers tracing Vex nests on a Venus map, "It's the middle of the day and I'm bored."

Ikora smiled and chuckled, a soft, lilting noise. "I always appreciate your honesty and how upfront you are."

He shot a smile her way. "I always try."

"Don't try to woo Ikora, Cayde." Zavala said, looking up from a comm feed, "That Warlock's as solitary as they get."

Cayde laughed. "Everyone knows of your failed attempts at courting Ikora, Zavala."

The Titan Leader had tried. . . just once. For a while, it had been the Tower's hottest gossip, and the courting had lasted a few years. . . before the war between all factions had escalated, and left no room for the Leaders to do anything other than organize strategies and coordinate. Now that Cayde reflected on it, it had stopped when the Fallen had nearly breached the City.

"Warlocks are solitary creatures by nature, Zavala." Ikora said gently, "If you had proposed a puzzle to me. . ."

Zavala laughed. "You are the greatest puzzle I know, Ikora."

Cayde shook his head and smiled wryly. Apparently, the courting was still ongoing, as futile as it was. And when the war calmed down a little, it was likely that it would resume. . . as would the gossip. Sighing reluctantly, Cayde turned his attention back to his maps. . . or tried to.

Soft, almost inhumanly quiet footsteps echoed through the Hall of Heroes, heralding the arrival of another Hunter. Cayde picked up on the sound easily - he had a personal hand in helping train the newer Hunters, and as stealth was one of his areas of expertise, it wasn't uncommon for him to lead sessions on how best to employ it. He knew the sounds they made, the small whisper-light echo of sound that Hunters emitted as they moved.

He straightened again, and yes, there, coming down the hallway, was a Hunter dressed in muted colors. Some of the more brassy and daring Hunters enjoyed sporting ridiculous shades of neon purple, green, and yellow, but most chose to stick to matte shades. . . or white, strangely enough.

At that thought, Cayde simmered. He knew where those white armor shaders came from, and one day, he'd get his hands on one.

_That damn Vault. . ._

Ikora and Zavala, quite used to Vanguard factions dropping in to check in and report, turned back to their tasks, and Cayde turned to greet the Hunter. It was a woman, Awoken, mid-thirties, if he had to guess when her helmet dissipated and sub-spaced. Her appearance, which normally Awoken took great pride in, was quite mussed and tired. Her hair was frayed and falling out of its neat braid, and her armor bore the telltale marks of slashes.

Hive.

In the crushing formality that the Awoken possessed, she clasped a hand across her breastplate and gave a short bow. "Cayde." She greeted.

"No need for that, Hunter." Cayde said, "Looks like you've been through the ringer."

She drooped, exhaustion playing over her frame.

"The Hive stir on the moon. I found a fireteam in need of assistance, and aided as much as I could. They're getting more brash, their numbers bolstering."

"The moon?" Cayde echoed, glancing down at his maps. "Interesting."

"The same could be said of Earth. Old Russia is beginning to become infested with Knights."

"Thank you. I'll update the maps and send out a sitrep. Good work, Hunter, and thank you. . . do you need any medical care?"

The Awoken shook her head. "I'll go to the Hunter quarters and rest for a bit, I should be fine."

Cayde nodded. "Alright. And hey. . . be careful out there, alright? We've already lost one Hunter to the Hive last week. I don't want to have to hold funeral rites for you too. Understand?"

The Awoken nodded, and with another salute (although this one more sloppy and less practiced as she swayed on her feet), she turned on her heel and walked out. Cayde watched her as she left her Ghost didn't pop out and tell him otherwise. The Ghosts were programmed to out the Guardians on their lies when health was at stake. He did a quick scan with his medical scanners, just to be certain, but her word was true: she was just tired, and a little banged up, but not in need of medical care. She'd be fine.

Cayde stood there, watching her walk out, and he had to suppress a sigh.

The jungles of Venus, the deserts of Mars, the cold terrain of Old Russia, the cracked, barren surface of their moon. . . each one sang a siren's song, beckoning him out to the wild. And he wished he could go, grabbing The Last Word, summoning his Sparrow, and cruising for a fight. . .

But the Vanguard needed him.

A noisy group of Guardians - a Titan fireteam - came down the Hall next, and Cayde watched Zavala's mouth thin. The Vanguard Leader looked at the worse-for-wear soldiers and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So. Is there any reason why a _Hunter _had to bail you out of trouble?" The Commander demanded.

The sheepish silence that came in response made Cayde laugh, and he was still chuckling as he turned back to his maps.


End file.
